From then on, the game became more like a typical Feudball match. Players were felled on both sides, cheap shots were thrown, and some players were sneaking a quick kick into a prone body when the referee wasn't watching. Keg appeared to be enjoying himself, stiff-arming one of the Nausican players and knocking him out cold.

Mauritz ordered the crew to assemble on deck. "We???ve been beaten by an inferior team. Rum rations???ll be suspended until further notice for this humiliation. Rather than suffer the gloatin' of the fools who beat us, we???ll head out for some plunder to recoup our losses. Any tardiness???ll be dealt with severely. Haul anchor!"

i did my pre order at EucBowl
ive really liked the prevew chapters so far
its alot better than the Blood Bowl novels...
but really thats not a hard thing to do

congrats to Babs and Vimes
u guys have done a great job so far

Lowden was easily the largest city he had ever seen. Smoke haze from thousands of chimneys sat heavy in the morning light, turning everything a tinge of orange. The harbour was busy, with boats chugging in and out under steam, and ferries crossing the large river.

The mattress wasn't very thick, and neither was the pillow, but compared to the pirate ship and most of the prison cells he had been in over the last couple of months, it was luxury. At least this one didn't rock.

Through a door, Alex saw a very large prisoner standing tall over a rather nervous-looking Filch in a room filled with cleaning equipment. The man was completely bald, and red faced. He picked Filch up clear off the ground by his shirt and then rammed him into the wall so that some heavy tins fell off a nearby shelf and crashed onto the floor.
"Not good enough,??? he growled, and raised a fist with a vicious sneer.
"Hey!" Alex butted in. "Put him down."
Greg turned his head. There was scar running across the left side of his face from nose to ear.
"Who're you?" Greg thundered as he rammed Filch against the wall once more, sending
more tins clattering to the floor. The unfortunate Filch slid down the wall as he was let go.

???You've survived a pirate attack, I think you could handle being a trencher on a Feudball team,??? Gordon grinned.

The field, thankfully, was mostly green, but the grass was short and a bit rough, with clumps of turf casually strewn about the field and what appeared to be lumps of cow dung. To his left, Alex noticed an ancient scoreboard, with an attendant in an old chair, sipping a mug of ale. A scruffy looking, brown-haired dog sat beside him.
"So, is this the grass roots level?" Alex asked, strolling up to stand beside the veteran. They both slowly scanned the rest of the stadium, if it could be called that.
There was a food tent preparing hot snacks for the handful of early spectators, and a beer tent that was beginning to do a steady trade. A trio of chubby match officials were enjoying some of the local hospitality before the game. Alex felt all three of them were old enough to be his grandfather and they looked like they would have trouble managing a fast walk.
Gordon sighed, "Yes, the local league. Most of the teams at this level are sponsored by local pubs and hotels, hence their names. The teams themselves are mostly made up of young hopefuls, retiring veterans and never-have-beens."
"Any wise words of wisdom to impart?"
Gordon grinned. "Don't get killed. Nobody will remember you if you die on a cow paddock. Come on, let's go warm up."